


Every Poet Starts To Make Sense

by skullage



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullage/pseuds/skullage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis could have said whatever Harry wanted, and it would have been true, but the pressure in his chest was holding him hostage, and Harry had never shied away from absolute honesty. He revelled in it. He asked, not because he was unsure, but because he needed Louis to tell him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Poet Starts To Make Sense

The entire interview Harry had a look on his face that meant only one thing. Louis was one of maybe five people who knew what the look meant and, to his knowledge, the only person that caused it. The interviewer asked them standard questions -- what it was like to be in a different country, and Louis started in on the metric system, which led to a conversation about the subway system and how it differed from back home -- and all the while Harry stared at Louis with an intensity that made Louis itch. When Harry laid his head on Louis's shoulder, the she gave them a curious look, which Louis responded to with a blank smile. The others, the only other people apart from Louis that could recognise Harry’s look and knew what it meant, politely ignored them. 

Liam started talking about the fans in this sector of the globe, a topic the interviewers never failed to bring up, and Louis, despite the warm and distracting weight pressed into his side, at least attempted to acknowledge there was a room full of camera crew and an interview in progress. He did it much more successfully than Harry, who began to slide his hand up Louis’s spine, and Niall, on the other side of him, who was staring at Harry's hand. Louis turned to look at Harry, mustering confusion and the last of his innocence that Harry had yet to rob him of into a genuinely curious expression. When he asked "What?" under his breath, Harry simply shook his head, batted his eyelashes, mumbled "nothing", but his smirk betrayed him. Louis would have been lying if he said that look didn't get to him, that Harry rubbing up against him didn't send a shiver down his spine. It meant a whole world of good things in store for the both of them. 

The thing was, he knew what Harry was doing -- how could he not? He wasn’t an idiot. Previous experience had taught him well what lay behind the scratch of Harry's nails across his skin, how he leaned over to nuzzle his face into Louis's shoulder with the pretence of getting comfortable. He knew it, just the same as Harry knew what it did to him. But just because Louis was aware of Harry's behaviour didn't mean he was all that smart about it, or that he could stop his reaction, when it was a reaction Harry was after. 

Louis felt a flush of arousal low in his stomach just at Harry's proximity and the heat in Harry's stare, and from that point onward the interview dragged with the arrogance and monotony of an obstacle that existed solely to impede Louis's sexual proclivity. 

The thought of keeping his dignity while sporting a semi and watching Harry stretch beside him occurred just as the interview began to wrap up. The each said their piece, added a chorus of "Hi, we're One Direction" at the interviewer's prompting, and when the cameras cut everyone rose immediately, Louis's heart beating loud and hard. His peripherals narrowed to only Harry, whose fingers had wound themselves through Louis's belt loops, standing close enough that Louis could breathe him in. Harry had the audacity in a room full of people and their closest friends, while hundreds of fans rallied around the building, to lean into Louis's side until their cheeks pressed together, smelling great the way he did, licking his lips, and murmuring "I'm so hard" under his breath, into Louis's ear. 

That's all it took, and Louis was ready to go. He was only human. 

Forget his embarrassing hard-on, how bad would it have been if they threw down right then and there? The way Harry turned to look at him, it was getting harder, in both senses of the word, for Louis to keep his hands to himself. For all his shamelessness, exhibitionism might be testing it, but, as with all things, he was willing to sacrifice normal moral code for Harry. 

He shot Harry a look that tried to convey both his exasperation with Harry's wild streak and his indulgence in it. It failed in the face of Harry's grin; Louis could still feel his breath on his cheek, even as he stepped away. He bit his lip, clearly enjoying the sexual strain it put Louis under, with his clothes still on and their hands kept to themselves. Torture was more like it -- Harry was torturing him and enjoying it. Biting his knuckle in a charade of coyness, dragging his feet as he sauntered backwards towards the bathroom in the back, completely oblivious to anyone else in the room. 

Louis breathed deeply and steadied himself, willed himself to stay standing. At any other moment he might have made a show of swooning over Harry, with the rest of the world watching, expecting lunacy and melodrama. An over-exaggeration to mask the fact that he was swooning, melodramatically, to hide the effect Harry had on him. As it stood, there was no call for jokes. It took all of his will and self-preservation to stay upright; it was surprising he wasn't swooning anyway, with all the blood in his brain rushing straight to his dick. He glanced around expecting the eyes of the room on him, sure that he would be caught out, but unable to move. Everyone else was too busy to pay him any mind. Just before Louis counted himself too lucky, Liam glanced up and caught his eye; there was an exasperated but fond shake of the head, to which Louis shrugged, and that was it -- they were in the clear.

Despite the simplicity of the gesture, Louis didn't realise until he saw it that he needed it, some small acknowledgement that what he and Harry were doing wasn't so far gone even Liam didn't want anything to do with it. That even if it was a bad idea, Liam, and by extension Zayn and Niall, still cared. 

Louis heaved a sigh, for all the bad ideas and good times Harry dragged him into, and followed him down the hall. No sooner had he reached the bathroom than Harry pulled him inside and pushed him against the door, hands grabbing at Louis's hips, lips mouthing at his neck. 

"Just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you, Curly?" Louis tried for admonishing, but the reality of the situation was neither could he. His voice was a tinny echo that bounced off the tile, deceptively lighter than the scene called for. It was made that much more real when Harry pulled their bodies flush together and Louis's dick swelled from the friction. 

"Nope," Harry remarked, between biting kisses down Louis's neck. "Not another minute."

"Because when Harry wants sex, Harry gets sex." Louis was only half-joking, his ability to form coherent sentences slipping further and further away. 

Harry paused for a second before he replied, "Only if Louis wants sex," continuing to muzzle his neck, nipping at the delicate skin and grinding their hips together. 

Louis's breath caught in his throat. The impact of that statement was a little overwhelming. They'd never said they were exclusive, had never even brought up the actual subject of their relationship in conversation (one not initiated awkwardly by Liam in the middle of watching Babe: Pig In The City while Niall tried not to laugh and Zayn tried not to show how uncomfortable he was at the mention of it). Louis had taken Harry's silence as mutual agreement not to label it, to have one thing in their lives they didn't need to control with words -- that what happened between them was for them only, and not a gimmick for producers or fans. He had never thought to actively claim ownership of Harry in a situation that owned them more than they could ever own it, but to hear him say that, the implications that Harry might want him to made Louis lightheaded all over again. 

He felt the pressure of Harry's hand cup him through his jeans and it brought the moment back into focus. Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and adoring, lips bitten pink and hair a complete mess, smelling amazing and looking even better, waiting patiently for Louis's next move. A surge of longing rocked Louis's body, sucking all the breath from his lungs. Harry leaned forward an extra few centimetres until their lips were almost touching, poked his tongue out to lap at Louis's bottom lip. Something wild and dangerous and primal flashed in Harry's eyes; Louis could see himself reflected for a second before he snapped out of it and sucked Harry's tongue into his mouth, held Harry's face, and kissed him until he groaned. 

Harry's hands busied themselves with Louis's belt and Louis leaned back, if only to relish the moment when Harry's mouth chased his, as if his body valued it, valued Louis, over air. It made him ache in a way that had little to do with sex. He stilled Harry's hands, and Harry gazed up at him with genuine irritation, expression clouded, eyebrows drawn. 

"You right, Lou?"

"You're amazing Harry, you know that?"

The corner of Harry's mouth lifted in a self-conscious smirk, his irritation falling away. "Haven't done anything yet."

Louis had nothing to follow that up with, no smartarse comment about mistaking him with Liam, so he said nothing and hoped Harry got it anyway. 

After another moment of stilled hands and level gazes Harry bit his lip, murmured "come on" and tugged Louis into the toilet stall. It was crowded, with two overgrown boys packed into a one square metre enclosure, but it was clean. Louis's pulse was working so hard in anticipation of finally getting them both at least partially naked that he was about to break out with withdrawal symptoms. When Harry bolted the stall Louis remembered the unlocked bathroom door with a pang of annoyance, and even though the Pope or Simon Cowell could walk in and it still wouldn't stop him busting out of his trousers or forcefully removing Harry's clothes, one of the boys could still have walked in looking for them. The last time didn't go over well; it wouldn't pay to give Niall a repeat performance of it. 

"We gotta be quick," Louis breathed. Aside from the off chance that one of the others might have come looking, they were still on a schedule. 

"Don't worry about it," Harry replied. The smirk he wore, the predatory grace his body exuded, did things to Louis's brain akin to a firecracker. Harry wasted no time in stripping off his own shirt, letting it drop to the floor carelessly. It was a sight Louis hadn't tired of -- just watching Harry move, curls bouncing, mouth slightly open as he concentrated, the muscles in his stomach and arms flexing. 

He didn't get to savour it long (because he, Louis, lived in a world that would let him love another boy, but only long enough to show him what he couldn't live without), before Harry pushed him down onto the lid of the toilet, and dropped to his knees. 

Louis immediately leaned forward to kiss him again, ran his hands over Harry's bare skin, and groaned when Harry's hands returned to his crotch. The sound was swallowed and mimicked in Harry's low growl. He pushed Louis back and worked his trousers open, slowly at first to accommodate Louis's growing erection. A sigh escaped him at the release of pressure, and he relaxed back as Harry took hold and tugged him free. The hungry look on Harry's face, his delicate grip, was enough to short-circuit Louis's brain completely. 

Louis glanced down at his dick, flushed red and aching for Harry's next move. "You gonna do something about that?"

Harry licked his lips. "What do you want?"

Louis could have said whatever Harry wanted, and it would have been true, but the pressure in his chest was holding him hostage, and Harry never shied away from absolute honesty. He revelled in it. He asked, not because he was unsure, but because he needed Louis to tell him. 

Louis's voice was shaky when he replied, "Suck me, love."

He felt the rush of warm breath over his cock a second before Harry swallowed him down, heart rabbiting in his chest. Harry's mouthed stretched around the head, raw and spit-slick, gazing up at Louis through his eyelashes as he sank and took him in further.

The pressure in Louis's spine, which had been building since Harry first whispered in his ear, spiked, and he groaned with it. "So good, Harry," he breathed, stroking the back of his hand across Harry's cheek. He could smell his own arousal in the air, mingled with sweat and the tang of generic detergent. His skin prickled, warm enough to catch fire from Harry's palms stroking up his jeans, sweaty through the denim, and his mouth running down Louis's cock. 

"Keep going," he urged, a hand in Harry's hair to guide him, and Harry sank further down until his nose was buried in Louis's pubic hair. Even though his head was bowed and his hair hung over his face, Louis caught Harry close his eyes to keep them from watering. There was no other sign of discomfort, no mood-breaking gagging noises or clench in his throat, and Harry kept going. Louis had to be honest: it was a real turn-on that Harry didn't pull away or slow down. The moment passed in a teasing slide of his mouth as he adjusted. It was something that he'd seemed to grow used to over the past few months, obeying instruction just to make Louis feel good and that -- that was the real turn-on. That Harry did what he was told. 

It wasn't long before Harry picked up the pace, applying the same intensity to sucking Louis's dick that he'd shown in kissing him minutes before. His tongue swirled the tip, licking delicately, then sucking harder until Louis hit the brink, his fingers clenched in Harry's curls as he came down his throat. 

"Fu-uck," Louis hissed, breathy and high. Harry swallowed all he could, pulled back as Louis came down, wiped a hand across his mouth. The same hungry look shone out of his eyes. Louis stroked a hand across his cheek, wiping the stray beads of come from the corner of Harry's lip. 

"Good?" Harry asked, neither self-conscious, or gloating. Just curious. 

Louis let out a low hum. His hands dropped and he leaned back again. "Always, babe. How am I gonna beat that?" He had a few ideas, and treacherously, selfishly, the first one was to make Harry wait until they got back to the hotel where he could spread him out and make him writhe for hours. He wondered briefly if Harry would let him, could hold out for that long just because Louis asked him to. If he would say yes, the way he said yes to everything Louis asked of him. 

Before he had a chance to, Harry tucked him back in and zipped up his jeans, delicately enough that Louis felt a pang of guilt and shame at thinking only of himself, however momentarily. He reached out again and pulled Harry in for a kiss. Harry went pliant in his hands as if he was the one who just came. Louis ran his hands over Harry's chest and shoulders, feeling his body warmth and light sweat and the shudder as their kiss deepened. He must have been aching, hard up since before Louis, before the interview, unable to get off together that morning because they slept in different beds and woke up late, anyway. It was an oversight Louis hadn't intended to repeat, but the way Harry acted -- had acted all morning right up until this moment -- made him think differently. 

"You feel so good," Louis groaned his hands on Harry's chest while Harry nestled in the v of his legs. 

"Just want you so bad," Harry repeated, in between kisses, as out of breath as Louis. The need for air warred against the need to keep connected. "Want you all the time, can't help it."

"I know, love," Louis said, tone sympathetic. In the back of his mind a voice nagged for him to repeat the sentiment, when it wasn't night or between the sheets or gasped into the crook of Harry's hip, but he stamped it down, focused instead on sliding forward to get as close to Harry as possible. He reached his hand down, backs of his fingers brushing Harry's stomach and feeling the muscles jump. He made a move for Harry's cock, only to find Harry's own hand wrapped around it, jacking himself quickly while pushing his tongue into Louis's mouth. 

Harry jumped at the contact of Louis's hand covering his own. Almost immediately Harry turned his head away, gaped in lungfuls of breath. 

"Shh, shh," Louis whispered into his temple. "Got you, don't worry, let me take care of you." He continued to work his hand over Harry quickly, but not roughly, despite the awkward angle. Harry slumped on him, twisting in Louis's arms, and Louis took the chance to press his nose into his soft curls and inhaled. 

Harry's hands came up to touch Louis, one arm snaked around his shoulders, nails digging into his back, while the other rested on Louis's hip. All the while he fucked into Louis's hand he moaned low under his breath, his skin damp with perspiration, his cock leaking over Louis's hand. 

Harry's skin was salty and warm as Louis kissed down his hair, temple, face, taking an earlobe between his teeth and biting softly. The groan Harry muffled into his shoulder was still too loud for the bathroom. Too loud probably only because Louis focused on it, listening and feeling intently for the subtle changes in Harry's body that signalled his loss of control. 

Just listening to it Louis was turned on all over again, but with the smell of sex in the air, the taste of it in his mouth, and Harry moaning in his hands, Louis had to force himself to stay focused. Overwhelmed was an easy state to be in with Harry. 

When he turned his head more, Louis licked into his ear, twisted his wrist on the upstroke. Harry's entire body shuddered and his teeth clamped down on Louis's collarbone through his shirt, hard enough to leave a mark. Louis stroked him through it, felt the rush of wet warmth over his fingers, smelled it in the air. After a minute Harry stopped shaking and sat back on his heels. 

He looked a debauched, hot mess: his hair, unruly at the best of times, stuck to his forehead and straight up at the back where Louis's hands had carded through it; his mouth was red, raw, hanging open as he caught his breath; his blown-wide pupils made his eyes even bigger, much too innocent for just having come all over the floor of a men's bathroom; his skin glowed in the fluorescent lighting, still too warm. For several minutes they stayed close, the occasional stroke of an arm in the afterglow to keep them connected, blissed-out and worn out, revelling in it. Aside from the slight ache in his wrist, Louis was very fucking relaxed. He pulled off a wad of loo roll and wiped himself off quickly, did the same to a shell-shocked and uncooperative Harry, who stayed on the floor, swaying slightly. 

"Oh no, I've broken you," Louis teased. 

Harry glanced up at him with a drained expression. "Yeah," he agreed slowly. "Fuck."

Louis grinned despite himself and helped Harry to his feet. "Come on, young Harold. Shan't keep the groupies waiting."

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. He blinked a few times as if coming out of a trance, or feeling a caffeine hit with jet-lag still weighing him down. It was pretty adorable, despite the things he had done with his mouth to throw that word out the window. Louis handed over his shirt, zipped him back up as he slipped it on. A comfortable silence followed in which Louis's hands gravitated to Harry's hips and stayed there, their bodies slotted together again. 

"Come on," Louis repeated, softer this time, though he made no attempt to move. 

"Just one more minute, Lou," Harry replied. His voice was hoarse and sent goose bumps along Louis's skin because, fuck -- he'd done that. 

Harry kissed him again. Without the adrenaline and arousal it tasted pretty foul, but Louis melted into it all the same. He didn't taste that great, or smell that great now, but Harry tolerated him. Harry wanted him. 

Harry spoke up, as if picking up an earlier conversation, "We're gonna have to keep pretending, aren't we? Back in that world."

"The one with the producers and cameras and screaming girls, you mean?"

Harry nodded, his expression tired and drawn but giving nothing else away. 

"Sorry babe. It's just for a little while."

"Until we finish the contract."

"Yeah, until we finish the contract."

Harry glanced away, his face pinched, angry. Hurt. Louis's stomach turned in empathy, mimicking the mood whiplash. He wished, just for a second, and just for Harry, that they didn't have to hide away in bathrooms and separate beds and behind closed curtains. The look on Harry's face made Louis ache to give him what he wanted, to wipe it off his face with a kiss in front of two-thousand fans, to show the world it didn't matter when he could sweep Harry Styles off his feet. 

But he couldn't. It would cost them too much. 

And besides. Out in that world, their friends were waiting.


End file.
